frantic and interminable uproar in San Bartolomeo.

Yet there was a charm about all this at first, and I spent much time in
the study of the vociferous life under my windows, trying to make out the
meaning of the different cries, and to trace them back to their sources.
There was one which puzzled me for a long time--a sharp, pealing cry that
ended in a wail of angry despair, and, rising high above all other sounds,
impressed the spirit like the cry of that bird in the tropic forests which
the terrified Spaniards called the _alma perdida_. After many days of
listening and trembling, I found that it proceeded from a wretched, sun-
burnt girl, who carried about some dozens of knotty pears, and whose hair
hung disheveled round her eyes, bloodshot with the strain of her incessant
shrieks.

In San Bartolomeo, as in other squares, the buildings are palaces above
and shops below. The ground-floor is devoted to the small commerce of
various kinds already mentioned; the first story above is occupied by
tradesmen's families; and on the third or fourth floor is the
_appartamento signorile_. From the balconies of these stories hung
the cages of innumerable finches, canaries, blackbirds, and savage
parrots, which sang and screamed with delight in the noise that rose from
the crowd. All the human life, therefore, which the spring drew to the
casements was perceptible only in dumb show. One of the palaces opposite
was used as a hotel, and faces continually appeared at the windows. By all
odds the most interesting figure there was that of a stout peasant
serving-girl, dressed in a white knitted jacket, a crimson neckerchief,
and a bright-colored gown, and wearing long dangling ear-rings of
yellowest gold. For hours this idle maiden balanced herself half over the
balcony-rail in perusal of the people under her, and I suspect made love
at that distance, and in that constrained position, to some one in the